


It's Raining in Gotham

by AlmondRose



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Gen, alfred's a lowkey stalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 22:05:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8507200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlmondRose/pseuds/AlmondRose
Summary: It's raining in Gotham, and the batfamily is dealing with it.





	

 

It’s raining in Gotham. 

 

It’s raining in Gotham and he’s in for the night, drying himself off and changing into warm clothes. He can hear the pitter-patter of the rain on the windows, on the roof. It’s early, for him to be in. He goes to the window and rubs his hair dry, peers out into the night sky. He can make out a fuzzy yellow light, gleaming from around a dark building along the city’s skyline. He tosses the towel on the coffee table and turns on the TV; some rerun of a sport he doesn’t care about turns on. 

 

He goes to the kitchen, heats up some hot chocolate (enough for two). He pours his in a Nightwing mug, the other in a Superman one, and he goes back to the couch and watches, in an abstract, unfocused sort of way. 

 

The doorbell rings just when his eyes start to close, are just getting heavy, then the door opens and she wheels herself in. Her hair is soaked, and she has water on her glasses, and she smiles thinly at him. He smiles back, and she goes to the kitchen to get her hot chocolate, then she moves from her wheelchair to the couch, and he wraps a blanket around them both, and she leans on his shoulder. 

 

“You’ll get my shirt wet,” he scolds, and she looks at him. 

 

“Like you care,” she teases, and he really doesn’t, so he sips his hot chocolate and keeps watching the sports to the sound of the rain, pitter-pattering on the windows and the roof. 

 

It’s raining in Gotham.

 

It’s raining in Gotham and he’s exhausted, to the bone, but he has to be awake because of the stupid mission. He knows this, but he’s cold and wet and there’s water down his suit (how) and his fingers are cramping and it’s really hard to wipe the water from the lenses of his helmet and he has no freakin idea what time it is or even what he’s doing anymore--he really needs more sleep. 

 

He readjusts his position and stares down at the targets, who have been milling about with other people (innocents) all night, so he’s been sitting there, on an abandoned fire escape, for like…..eight hours? Ten hours? He doesn’t remember anymore. The rain pounds all around him, and he wonders if the Bats are all safe, cozy and tucked up in their beds, then he pushes the thought away. It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. 

 

He tries to blink away the rain, but the pounding rain’s on the other side of his helmet, so he can’t. He curses and wishes he were warm or dry or anywhere else. There’s a brief creaking behind him and a flash of orange, and he know’s they’re behind him. She leans against his back, and he can feel her sun-soaked skin through his armor, warming him up. His lips twitch into a smile under the helmet, and he can feel familiar fingers lace into his, and he sighs. 

 

It’s raining in Gotham. 

 

It’s raining in Gotham and he’s laying on a roof, gravel digging into his cheeks, and he’s not sure how he got there. He thinks, embarrassingly, he probably was on auto-pilot and he slipped in the water. Or maybe he actually dozed off and fell...because he was asleep. Either way, it’s embarrassing and he’s glad not to have O cackling in his ear. 

 

A clock chimes from somewhere, and it’s really late, and he wants to get up, go home, get in a bed, but he also kind of just wants to….lay here. Forever. It sounds nice, gravel in his cheeks and rain on his face besides. He feels his eyes drift shut, and he listens to the sound of the city beneath him, drifting and moving and changing and living. He moves his hands absent-mindedly, his gloves sift through the gravel and his cape and he almost wants to use his real hands but he thinks it’s probably pretty cold. Also his hands are more or less dry and he wants to keep it that way. 

 

He lays there for a while, on a rooftop in Gotham in the rain. Then the clock chimes again, and he realizes he’s been there for like…..an hour. Just laying there. He rolls over, rubs gravel from his cheeks, hopes there’s not any under his mask, and hoists himself to his feet. 

 

He finds his bo staff a few feet away from him. He takes it and turns toward the GCPD building. The Batsignal is still there, still strong, but he thinks he can probably go home.

 

If he manages to stop some crime on the way back, well that’s just lucky for him. 

 

It’s raining in Gotham. 

 

It’s raining in Gotham and she’s in her almost-empty apartment, laying on the floor. She wonders why she even has this apartment, why she can’t stay at her friends’ all the time. They had said it was to help her adjust, and this confuses her. Why should she have to adjust? Why should she need all this space to herself, when all she needs is a smile and a couch? 

 

The rain surrounds her, the empty room making each drop echo. She closes her eyes and listens. She likes rain. She likes the smell, the shape, the life. She likes the way it makes everything sparkly, everything a little wet. She likes hearing the rain and not feeling it. She likes the clashes of thunder and the strikes of lightning she can see behind her eyes, but she knows she is safe. 

 

She wonders if the lightning illuminates or dims the Batsignal. 

 

Thunder crashes and the toilet flushes. She hears footsteps coming down the hall, and then the other girl lays next to her. She reaches out and intertwines their fingers. 

 

“Why do I have all this empty space?” she asks, and her fingers are squeezed in response. After a moment, she replies. 

 

“So you have space to dance.” And she tugs her up, and their hands stay locked, and the rain  surrounding them is close enough to music. 

 

It’s raining in Gotham. 

 

It’s raining in Gotham and he’s behind a stone beam on the corner of a building, watching her. She’s jumping in puddles, like a child, laughing and not even caring that her hair is plastered to her cheeks and her cape is getting dirty water on it and he thinks her toes are probably numb but she keeps jumping. He’s followed her for quite some time now, and she’s been walking and jumping and kicking and splashing and he doesn’t understand. 

 

He never understands her. She spins around on one purple boot, eggplant cape flying behind her, and she’s still grinning when she stops, facing him. She sways, a little, and regains her balance. 

 

“I know you’re there,” she says. And he’s not sure how--but she always does. He figures there’s no backing out now--he takes off his sword and he leaves it in the corner, and he pulls up his hood. 

 

He goes over to her, grumbling. And she takes his hand, his green one in her purple one, and she pulls him through the puddles. 

 

He splashes at her and she splashes back. They stomp and skip and he might even smile--a little. 

 

Sometimes, sometimes, he lets himself be a kid around her. He knows she won’t tell. And--it’s kind of--kind of  _ fun.  _

 

It’s raining in Gotham. 

 

It’s raining in Gotham and he’s honestly really, really, tired. He lost track of the kids ages ago, there’s no telling where they are, and he just pulled up into the Batcave. 

 

He takes off his cowl, his gauntlets and his belt, his boots and his suit. He takes a shower--warm, for once, if only because it was just so cold tonight--and he goes upstairs. 

 

There’s files to report, and things to do, but he honestly doesn’t care. He heads past the kitchen and he can smell cookies, and he takes one. He eats it on the way up the next flight of stairs. Once he gets to his room he collapses on the bed, wipes his mouth free from cookie crumbs, and burrows under his blankets. 

 

He hears the rain, gently plodding on the windows, and it’s enough to lull him to sleep. 

 

It’s raining in Gotham. 

 

It’s raining in Gotham and he turns off the Batcave lights, goes upstairs. He packages the cookies (which are about half gone) and puts them away. He turns off the lights and goes upstairs. 

 

He checks in five bedrooms, four of which are empty. One boy is sprawled out on the floor, snoring softly. He tuts and pulls a blanket over him, closing the door gently. 

 

He goes to the last bedroom. The master of the house is asleep, dead to the world, and he smiles and retreats to his own corners. 

 

He pulls open a tablet that Oracle had so nicely provided for him, and he opens up a tab. There are two people, asleep on the couch in his living room, both peaceful. 

 

He switches tabs and three people pop up, fondly arguing over takeout. He switches to the fourth camera, finding her actually at her apartment for once, sleeping with her head on the shoulder of that lovely girlfriend of hers. 

 

The last one found her in pajamas and him in an oversized purple t-shirt, their costumes hung over the back of the couch. They were clearly bickering over their popcorn during their movie. 

 

The butler turned off the tablet and put it away, turning off his lights and getting into bed. 

  
It’s raining in Gotham. 


End file.
